


Cecilienhof

by Wanderlust_Skies



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Background England/France, Gen, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Mentions of Austria, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of France, Mentions of Germany - Freeform, Mentions of Prussia - Freeform, Pre-Cold War, World War II, interpret it as you will, mentions of Canada, subtle ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderlust_Skies/pseuds/Wanderlust_Skies
Summary: Potsdam, 1945The Allies' Big Three (America, England, and Russia) meet to discuss the conditions of Germany's surrender and shape the post-WWII world. Alfred finds it a waste of time as he was still at war in the Pacific, Arthur is too preoccupied with other matters to concern himself with it, and Ivan's demands spark ire from both nations.





	Cecilienhof

**_Our vision of war is probably too influenced by the biggest one of all, World War II, where the forces of evil were so unambiguous and so relentless that there was no choice but to commit to total war and to demand unconditional surrender. Seldom, though, is it quite that clear cut._ ** **_  
_ ** **-David Horsey**

* * *

  
“You have the look of the Devil," a voice sighed behind the personification of the United States of America.  
  
Said man was previously absorbed in his thoughts; half-admiring the view of the carefully trimmed garden that reminded him of England’s perfectly manicured landscapes back in London and half-mentally preparing for the upcoming meeting. There were many things to do and he wasn’t sure how long his energy could last him. If only he could just rest for a moment.

Slowly, the nation turned to the voice, knowing full well of their identity and did not bother to smile. “Do I?” He asked flatly, earning him a raised eyebrow from the other. Normally he would respond in a cheerful disposition, always reasoning that a simple smile could brighten one’s day…but he knew that he was not adept at hiding his true emotions from the man who raised him.  
  
England did not offer his former ward a pitiful expression, merely a blank one. It was no surprise to the younger nation, having been the one to tend to his wounds, whilst holding back an angry curse toward those who inflicted them. At least the head wound stopped bleeding and the grotesque black left eye was slowly shrinking. But those injuries were the least of the bitter island nation’s problems. He still had his arm cast on, which should’ve healed a month ago, hinting that the Englishman had more grievous injuries that he hid from him. By the way Arthur breathed, Alfred knew that the fractured ribs were still painful. Every time he took in a breath, there was a faint wheeze and the small twitch of his shoulders. The latter was unhappy with his inability to help the former. For all that it was worth, they were still alive. Somehow. “This tells me one thing: either you’ve finally gone off your rocker or you’re planning something.”  
  
Alfred found himself staring at the marble flooring, not willing to give up his burden so easily. He recalled his boss’s voice, reminding him to keep up the utmost secrecy about his campaign in the Pacific. As pressing as Japan’s refusal to surrender following Germany’s was, the young nation was ordered to concentrate on Europe's reconstruction for the entirety of the private conference between himself, Arthur, and Ivan. While their leaders were discussing the future of the now defeated Germany, the nations were instructed to conduct their own meeting. A useless and boring one.  
  
It bewildered America. He felt that he was wasting time striking conversations with a power who was finished with the war and another whom he would not rather reach out to for help. The new weapon was ready and both Alfred and Arthur had seen a mere taste of it’s destruction. All his boss had to do was issue the ultimatum, perhaps hinting the capabilities of the new weapon without actually revealing its true nature.  
  
Then there was Russia himself to worry about.

Not informing Ivan didn’t sit well with the American. He trusted the Russian personification with his life. But his new president, Truman, did not. Unlike Roosevelt, his new boss was far more cautious of the USSR. Now that the war was over on their front, self-interest was dominating each one’s motives. There was no longer a common enemy to fight against. That much, the young nation understood.  
  
"A bit of both," he finally admitted to Arthur. "The war's over on your side, but still going on in mine." America knew that England wouldn't pester him about the Pacific front. He already knew what was going to happen. The Englishman moved next to him and stared out the window, biting his bottom lip.  
  
"Even after all these years," he started with a frown, "the aftermath of wars— either as the loser or winner— are always the hardest. I could never get over it, the sudden...emptiness. It's strange. Give me a rifle and a bayonet and I'll get the job done. But when it's all finished and we've done more damage than we thought, then we go home. Everyone just expects you to go about your business like nothing happened. The thing is...you never come back, at least not completely. You've had your share of wars. So tell me, Alfred. How do you cope with what you've seen? How do you forget the long nights where you wish you were anywhere else but there?" The injured nation studied him carefully, tuned to the inflections of Alfred's tone of voice and his body language.  
  
America opened his mouth to say something and paused for a moment. Arthur asked him a similar question a little over two decades ago in Versailles. Strangely, it was his way of asking whether the younger man was alright. "I don't think about it," he replied simply. Dwindling in the past always brought painful memories he thought were long-buried. So he no longer bothered to.  
  
England chuckled dryly and maintained his gaze toward the garden. "I guess some are just lucky." He sounded envious, perhaps even a little bitter. Alfred would be if he was in his shoes. "...how's your brother?"  
  
"Resting back at his place. He's spending most of his time holed up in his office talking to his boss to set things back to what they used to be. How about frenchie?"  
  
For onlooker not used to how the two nations interacted, one might have thought America had overstepped his bounds by steering the subject toward Francis. Arthur's shoulders lowered and something in his gaze looked distant. "Breathing." It's an odd word to use, Alfred mused. Saying that he was fine would've sufficed. To say that the Frenchman was just breathing and not doing anything— perhaps he was merely existing— was baffling. But then again, the thick browed nation was harder on France's recovery than his own. He never said anything, but Alfred was more than aware of how much France's injuries bothered England. In every meeting thus far, he seemed standoffish toward any probe into the Frenchman's health status.  
  
America wondered if he was like that because he didn't want to ask for help and nurse Francis back to health or his pride kept him from admitting that he was worried. The American was beginning to think that rivals wasn't the most appropriate term to describe their relationship. But that was for another time.  
  
"Just breathing?" Alfred echoed with furrowed eyebrows.  
  
"Well I wouldn't exactly call it living," England huffed, his tone had a hint of annoyance. "The frog's always either in his room or out in the gardens with a stupid look on his face. I can never get more than a sentence out of him." He was definitely bitter, Alfred concluded. The latter knew that his resentment was not particularly toward Francis, rather it was the frustrating culmination of the war and the looming reconstruction period. France just happened to be at the center of it all.  
  
"He'll come around," America reassured. However long it would take remained to be a mystery. At the very least, he was optimistic for his ally's recovery. "Just...keep him company okay?" Arthur didn't need to be told twice. Since the liberation of Paris, Francis was whisked away to mend his wounds in Arthur's private estate in Greater London. Away from any harm and the horrors of the frontline. And under the watchful eyes of the island nation. Other than certain occasions like this conference or redeployments to the front, the Englishman was constantly within his vicinity.  
  
"Sir," an attendant approached the two with both hands clasped behind his back. "The Russian emissaries have arrived." With a nod, Arthur dismissed the attendant and cleared his throat. Alfred didn't turn around, only taking a breath. He was never a fan of diplomatic discussions. They were boring and most of the time they led to shouting matches in the end. All an incredible waste of his time and precious energy.  
  
"C'mon old man," America lightly tapped the other's shoulder, "I don't think Ivan's gonna like it if we're late." England grunted but did not protest.

 

* * *

 

Five minutes later, all three nations were in the designated room. They sat around a circular table, polished for the occasion. Both Russia and America had a hot cup of coffee in front of them while England had a steaming cup of tea. Out of the three, the American fared the best. He had the least number of visible injuries; a small cut on his forehead that was held together by butterfly bandaids and two bruises on his temple and jaw. Meanwhile, Ivan had a broken nose and a gauze over his right cheek. His arms were wrapped in bandages from the tips of his fingers to his elbows.  
  
Rather than have a sour expression, Russia was in a brooding mood. He only shook his counterparts' hands and didn't speak until the doors finally closed. Frankly, America expected the opposite from him. As far as he knew, Moscow was cheering in triumph, having escaped the clutches of destruction. There were countless reports from his contacts that the capital had many parties after the announcement. Hell, the second signing of the unconditional surrender should've been enough to brighten his day. It was a gesture of humiliation as well as a metaphorical nail in the coffin that was Germany's defeat. Ivan's boss insisted that the surrender documents be signed in Berlin and it was to no one's surprise that he had his way. He should've been ecstatic, but he wasn't. The Red Army occupied both Central and Eastern Europe and yet he did not give a single mention of it.

Something felt off. 

"I suppose we should start," England said, sifting through a stack of notes he made for the meeting. "Do we all still agree to enforcing four occupation zones in Vienna?" Both America and Russia nod in agreement.

For a moment, Alfred’s thoughts drifted to Austria, the bespectacled aristocratic nation yet again subjected to an occupation. It had barely been two decades since his surrender in the Great War. Had Roderich not learned? Was the forced split between him and Hungary merely a slap on his hand as a warning? Was his stint in the wheelchair not enough of a lesson for him to wise up from? America could only guess.

"Very good. As discussed, Styria, East Tyrol, and Carinthia are in my zone. Russia's zones are as follows: Lower Austria, Mühlviertel, and Burgenland. America, yours are: Salzburg and Upper Austria. Lastly, France occupies Vorarlberg and North Tyrol." No one objected and they just politely sat in their seats. "Now that that's over, we can talk about Berlin’s zones."  
  
"East Berlin is mine," Russia announced a matter-of-factly. America hid his surprise behind his drink. His tone was unwavering and forceful. It was if he was worried whether he was going to receive what was promised to him. Perhaps Ivan was merely echoing what his boss told him to do. The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees as the other two didn't bother to protest.  
  
"Of course," Arthur nodded in his direction. There was no way in hell Russia would give up one of the most prized spoils of war. Controlling East Berlin meant that Prussia would be under his care. America considered it as a slap at Ludwig's face as the brothers would be split up between the Soviet Union and the West. Germany betrayed Russia with the launch of Operation Barbarossa and the latter was determined to make him pay for it. It was Russia who had suffered the most casualties. It was Russia who had his back to the wall and was prepared to fight tooth and nail. He had the most to lose. Naturally, he was the one to demand the harshest reparations. Alfred almost felt sorry for the axis power. Almost.  
  
Sympathy was not going to get anything done and empathizing to the German's plight would only complicate the talks. Ludwig had gambled and lost; now there was a price that came with defeat. Besides, pondering over his future was one too many things that Alfred had to worry about. Russia's capable of keeping the peace for a brief amount of time. The American preferred to remain on Ivan's good graces and made it a point to steer clear of any provocation. He had seen first hand what the soviet nation was capable of and abhorred the idea of fighting against him. Having him as an ally than an adversary would be best course to take.  
  
At least for now.  
  
All he had to do was bide his time until the new weapon proved itself out on the field. After that, the young nation thought in measured arrogance, that's when Ivan should worry about keeping himself on Alfred's good side. Soon. "Don't worry," America waved a hand, "what we agreed in Yalta still stands. You have Gilbert and we'll have Ludwig." And all of Eastern Europe, he silently mused as a wave of unease washed over his being. A deal was a deal. But it did nothing to dispel the American's fear that he and England had just made a deal with the devil at the expense of the others. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.  
  
Russia was careful to process America's words as the corners of his mouth slowly twitched into a smile. "Prussia will have a fun time in my house," he said to the two, as if he sensed the fear emanating from them. "I have his room ready for him. When do I bring him home?"  
  
Alfred's knee-jerk reaction was to respond with _never_. However, he bit his tongue and made sure to keep it to himself. England glanced at him, his blank expression betrayed the inner turmoil in his mind. Although he won't outright admit it, the younger nation was attuned to the his minor gestures and facial expressions to a point where he could consistently guess his true emotions. He wasn't sure if Ivan noticed it, but Arthur's forest green eyes were stormy. "You should expect him in the days after everything's been finalized," England answered, taking a sip of his tea. In a measure of finality, he lowered his cup on the saucer with a _clink_ . "In three weeks at the most. Now, to other things. Time is of the essence and I would rather we finish this as soon as possible. I'm sure there are more things we all need to attend to after this."  
  
"War reparations," Russia supplied the next subject to discuss as he placed an arm on the table and reclined into his backrest. America inwardly chuckled. Of course. Ivan was getting his affairs in order as quickly as possible. He couldn't say he blamed the man, though it did bother him a bit. "My boss suggests that in our zone, Germany should give us twenty-five percent of his industry in one year." Twenty-five? That was ridiculous. Ludwig would barely be able to physically stand following that demand.  
  
"No," America shook his head, finally disagreeing out loud. "He needs to recover from the damages. We need to make sure he doesn't wage war, not cripple him."  
  
"Oh?" Russia responded with a raised eyebrow. "Then what do _you_ suggest, _America_ ?" The way he said his name, filled with contempt as well as a challenge to his authority, was enough for said nation to curl his hand into a fist. Thankfully, it was resting on his knee under the table so Ivan wasn't able to see it.  
  
"Five percent."  
  
The USSR gave a hearty laugh as he shook his head. "That is not enough," he reasoned as he held up his hands, showing Arthur and Alfred his bandaged arms. "I need his industry to heal and help everyone in my house, yes? Five percent won't do anything."  
  
"Gentleman please," England attempted to mediate the two's growing ire. He stood up from his seat, grabbing the corner of America's chair for support. His stance wobbled for a second. He made no attempt to acknowledge it, straightening his back instead. "We cannot afford to make the same mistake with Ludwig. The aftermath of Versailles was a problem we lacked the hindsight to avoid." He paused and let the words sink in before he continued. "I can't believe I'm saying this...but I agree with America. I know that we all feel that he has to pay for what he's done and trust me, I want his blood as much as the both of you. But for everyone's benefit...I propose a two-year transition for ten percent of his industry instead. We need to help Germany stand on his own. Any objections?"  
  
America adjusted his glasses with one hand as he watched Russia, whilst drumming his fingers on the table using the other. To be completely honest, he didn't care for what happens to Germany. Frankly, he brought it upon himself. Too many nights were wasted over battle plans and counter tactics; Alfred's capacity for forgiveness was practically nonexistent. Fighting in the frontline exposed him to horrors and atrocities he'd not rather dwell on. America harbored a grudge that he was sure to fester and follow him for the years to come...but he wasn't stupid. Ludwig would be dead weight if he wasn't able to recover. Infrastructure rebuilding would then be the least of his problems. Ten percent was still a hard bargain for him, but he trusted England's decision. He just hoped that it wasn't misplaced. "Fine," he breathed, locking eyes with his soviet counterpart. "He can have the ten." Hopefully it was enough to keep him happy.  
  
Finally, after a tense minute, Ivan agreed as the American sighed in relief. Immediately after, Russia held up a hand. "On one condition." Alfred forced himself to swallow his disdain. What was it now? "Poland is under my care," he started, taking a deliberate breath. Feliks? What did he have anything to do with the deal? Ivan's amethyst eyes turned steely. "I will see to his government affairs. No interference from you two."

A pin could drop and all three nations would hear it. England's good eye twitched and America was sure the man was inwardly fuming. To agree to it was to betray Poland. Arthur was aware of the underlying consequences should they acknowledge soviet control. It meant that the exiled polish government would no longer be legitimate.  
  
"Deal," Alfred responded, surprising the Englishman and delighting Ivan. He could hear the subtle sound of England squeezing his backrest. _What have you done, you fool?_ He could just hear Arthur’s reprimand.

Instead of protest, the island nation sat back down and didn't say a word. The only consolation for him was to let America take the blame for betraying Poland after the promises they made to him. Alfred was fine with that. If it avoided World War Three, he was willing to take the fall. He'll explain everything to Feliks later, sure that the nation would understand. "But you have to make sure his soldiers can come back to their homes. Since we’re already talking about Feliks, let’s work on how we’re gonna handle Germany sharing borders with him."    
  
Two hours passed without much debate, as opposed to the rocky start. There were occasional arguments thrown back and forth, but nothing really sparked the previous ire between America and Russia. England took control most of the time, gently steering them to compromise. Ivan was already satisfied with his spoils, so naturally he was generally in an agreeable mood.

When they discussed the move to prosecute war criminals, strip any military capabilities, and reversing Germany's annexations, they were all in unanimous agreement. It was clear that none of them were willing to let Ludwig wage war for a long time.  
  
America stood up and stretched, throwing his arms up with a yawn. "Can we take a break? I think my leg's asleep." With a nod, Ivan excused himself and left the room, muttering that he needed to find his aides.  
  
Just as the door closed, Arthur stared at it for a moment before he said in a low whisper, "Russia's acting strange." Alfred finished his cup of coffee without saying a word. The American knew as much. He half-wondered why the island nation only noticed it then.  
  
"Well," Alfred spoke slowly, "We all got our secrets to keep right?"  
  
England scoffed as he drank his tea and let it hit the saucer roughly. "Are you trying to defend him?" The young nation suppressed a smirk. He watched his counterpart take out a cigarette from a pack he kept in his uniform's right breast pocket and light it. With the cigarette, it signaled to the American that Arthur was stressed.  
  
Leave it to the nation who had his fair share of power grabs to realize when someone else is doing the same thing. To England, Russia was nothing more than a wartime ally. When the war was out of the equation, their relationship changed. Alfred constantly heard from Winston Churchill, the English prime minister during the war, about how Stalin shouldn't be trusted. It seemed that England didn't completely tune out his boss's grievances against the man.    
  
"Nah, all I'm saying," America clarified as he watched the other take a long drag and reach for the ashtray in the middle of the table, "is that Ivan's probably as tired as we are. Look, I don't like him calling out the shots like earlier...but I don't blame him, you know?"  
  
Arthur rubbed his chin thoughtfully after he blew out the smoke and flicked the cigarette ashes into the porcelain tray. "You seem to refer to Ivan and Russia synonymously," he remarked, glancing at the smoke that was starting to accumulate, "I'd be cautious of that if I were you."  
  
The American narrowed his eyes and sent him a questioning look. "What's that supposed to mean?" Being spoken to cryptically was never something the sky blue-eyed man enjoyed. He preferred to be straightforward and honest. It made things a lot easier. Most of the time.  
  
"Don't let your personal feelings get in the way of negotiations," England chided, taking another drag. That stunned Alfred. Personal feelings? He opened his mouth to say something but the words got stuck in his throat.  
  
"Feelings," America finally sputtered, "for Russia?"  
  
"Don't act so surprised, lad," Arthur uttered, unfazed by his former ward's reaction. "What you do and who you talk to behind closed doors is none of my business." Damn right, Alfred thought. What was he insinuating? "But you mustn't think that Ivan and Russia are one in the same. Whether you like it or not, Russia will put his country first...just as you would as America." Ah, so that's what he meant. Trusting Ivan was one thing, but trusting Russia was an entirely different matter. Alfred knew that Ivan would do his best to help him but Russia would hesitate.  
  
So he decided the next sensible question. "And Ivan?"  
  
The island nation shrugged and tapped the cigarette in the tray before setting it down. "Hell if I know. I can never figure out what exactly goes on in his mind. You tell me." England patiently waited for an answer that the American wouldn't divulge, much less know how to respond.  
  
Alfred grimaced as he stood up from his seat and took off his bomber jacket, draping it on his chair. He had nothing to say, being perplexed by Ivan's change in attitude in the past few months. Instead, he busied himself with opening a window behind him to air out the room from England's smoking. The cool breeze welcomed him as he took in a deep breath. It was becoming clear to him that the war needed to end quickly. With it out of the way, he could monitor the soviet's activities in Europe and prepare for any worse case scenarios.  
  
In a sudden move and mind made up, America turned heel and strode to the door, prompting the Englishman to ask where he was headed to. "I need to find Japan," he answered in a clipped tone.  
  
"What for?" England queried with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"I'm giving him one last chance."

 

* * *

 

After a brisk walk around the palace, America found Japan in a secluded wing. Against the warnings of the Japanese nation's security detail, he waved them off with a dismissive hand and entered a small drawing-room. He was already at war with them, what difference would it have made if he arrived unannounced? Japan was in solitude, sitting at a desk and hovering over a collection of reports scattered on it. The raven-haired man glanced at the American and immediately rounded up the papers. Whatever they were, Alfred mused, Kiku was determined to not let him see them. "America," Japan spoke as he placed the stack of papers in the desk drawer. "This is most unexpected and informal."

  
That was an understatement.  
  
Officially, Japan and his emissaries were not participating in the conference. They were not even supposed to be in Germany. Unofficially, Japan had brokered a deal with his nation counterparts under a ceasefire agreement to observe the conditions of Germany's surrender. Russia did not care whether he was present. He was not at war with him, rather he signed a neutrality pact with him some time ago. England allowed for the meeting under the impression that Japan would come to his senses and surrender without much of a fight. Meanwhile America was suspicious at first, only to allow the special meeting as a testament to his strength and show the Japanese nation the consequences of defeat if he was not going to back down.  
  
"Yeah," Alfred placed his hands behind his back and clasped his hands together, "I know. I just wanted to talk things out."  
  
Japan blinked. It was wildly out of character for the American to even suggest such a thing. Naturally, it set off red flags in Kiku's mind. After a second, he made a sweeping gesture toward the couches. "Please sit."  
  
America shook his head. He had to return to the meeting shortly and didn't want to stay too long. "I'll pass. Besides, I have to head back soon."  
  
Japan's face was deceitfully blank, most likely questioning his true intentions. It must've been Kiku's nerves dictating his behavior. Their war in the pacific was slowly turning in Alfred's favor as his military pushed most of the Imperial army back to their country. Previous Japanese-controlled nations were liberated one by one through both America and England's efforts, weakening the empire's fighting ability. Following the recapture of Manila, it was only a matter of time before a final showdown occurred. It was on the horizon and frankly, Alfred didn't want to get to that point. He had used up a great deal of his resources and lost countless of troops. The faster he ended the war, the faster he can prepare for the next.  
  
Unfortunately, he was facing Japan, an island nation whom he knows full well that he'd fight until his last breath. After fighting in Okinawa almost a month ago— the angry red blaze of his flamethrowers and the mind-jolting screeches of machine gun nests were still fresh in his mind— it was clear that the war was only going to get more brutal. The death toll was demoralizing and grim; a number that only command personnel had the privilege of knowing. When Alfred read the report, he crumpled up the piece of paper, shoved it in his pocket, and stormed off to a secluded area.

One lost life was already too much.

Losing over 7,000 was sickening.

Naturally, he protested his generals’ plan to invade mainland Japan; a last resort as the haunting list of his dead would surely grow at an exponential rate. If Okinawa was any indication, Alfred was acutely aware that a victory over Japan through invasion would be a pyrrhic one. Unwilling to fully commit to that strategy, there was one last route he could take. America intended to use it in his last-ditch effort to prevent more bloodshed. Now was his chance.

"Look, this war's gotta end. I'm giving you one last warning," he started, leveling his eyes with Japan's. At the same time, he drew himself up to his full height and towered over the other nation. "All I want is peace."  
  
The words hung in the air like an approaching storm of clouds. "I think," Japan chuckled as he walked over to a tea-table which held a bottle of sake and two crystal glasses, "you confuse 'peace' with 'surrender.'" He poured the alcohol into both glasses and handed one to his counterpart. It was America's turn to become stone-faced as he accepted the drink with a nod.  
  
Alfred considered his words for a second, unable to decide whether to answer with snark or a measured threat. "Does it make a difference if the end goal's gonna be the same?" Surely Kiku would understand his point of view. He took a tentative sip, feeling the drink burn as it rushed down his throat. There was no doubt that Japan was a strong nation. He held his own longer than Alfred anticipated, much to said man's chagrin. For a nation bound to his shores with limited resources, Japan had proven himself to be adept at managing his things, not to mention the close proximity he had to other neighboring countries. For America, his spending costs doubled with the need for fuel to be shipped to his divided forces in both the east and west hemispheres just to keep his war machine running.  
  
"It is...for the one on the receiving end," Kiku quipped as he hid a smirk behind his glass. "I assume you are here to ask for my surrender?" Alfred knew he couldn't dance around the subject. His counterpart was too keen in reading between the lines to be hoodwinked so easily. Even so, the American wouldn't call it just a surrender. An armistice perhaps...but either way it would undoubtedly leave Tokyo's generals with no choice but to fight tooth and nail to the death. However there was something else he could gamble...  
  
"I'm giving you an ultimatum," America said. His tone is void of emotion and his stare hardened into a glare with the furrow of his eyebrows. "You and your government have a few days to agree to our terms and conditions. If I were you, I would say yes." Alfred hoped with every fiber in his being that Kiku would have the sensibility to go through with the surrender. It was unusual for the former to be serious; it was too out of character for him, regardless of circumstances. Though, desperate times called for desperate measures.  
  
"And the terms?"  
  
"Unconditional surrender." There was no more backtracking. No more lenience. He had to stand his ground.  
  
"Bold words," the raven-haired nation commented with venom laced in his voice. "Careful, America. Arrogance makes one sloppy." As soon as the last word left his lips, there was the sickening sound of glass shattering. Alarmed, the guards outside the door barged their way inside. They found the two nations facing each other, staring like wolves fighting for dominance. A single table stood between them, unscathed from the scattered glass shards on the floor. One guard had his pistol drawn and ready to fire at the intruding nation, only to be called off by Japan himself. "He was just leaving."  
  
America breathed in and straightened as he swiped the remaining shards off his hand, now empty as it was his glass that shattered to pieces while it was in his grip, inwardly cursing at his careless mistake. He should've worn gloves, he thought bitterly, as he valiantly tried to ignore the sting of the sake seeping into the cuts all over his palm. "Sorry 'bout the mess," he apologized half-heartedly. "Just think about it, will ya?" With nothing else to say, he left Japan to think over their conversation with the broken remains of the cup still on the ground.

 

* * *

 

Through a small sliver between the slightly opened doors, America saw that Russia already returned from wherever he disappeared to. Just when he reached for the handle, he heard the soviet nation remark, "He isn't like us." Puzzled and curious, the American held his breath and leaned closer to the door. Was he talking about him? Rather than barge in, Alfred opted to hide himself from the nations' view all the while being able to peer inside.  
  
"Pardon?" England questioned from his seat. He had a new cigarette in his hand, undoubtedly the island country's third or fourth one. If there was one habit America tried to help him kick, he could never get the stubborn man to quit chain-smoking. Frankly, there were moments where Alfred craved the nicotine as well. Normally he snuck away to find a deserted area for a quick smoke and was usually chastised by his brother when caught. Lately, he avoided it at Matthew's request but he wasn't sure how long he could maintain that. He figured if he made an effort to stop, maybe Arthur would follow suit. Clearly, it made no impact.  
  
"About America," Russia added as he sat down and stared at the table. "Do you ever wonder what he would be like if you won?" England leaned into his chair with a distant look. His mouth opened to say something but no words came out. Alfred immediately knew what Ivan was asking. The Revolution. His war against England.  
  
"What's the point?" Arthur finally breathed. There was a distinct expression on his face; it was almost melancholic. "I lost and he won. I don't dwell in the past. At least not anymore."  
  
"But before, what did you think?" Ivan pressed as he placed his elbow on the table and rested his head on his knuckles. It was a strange exchange to America. Why would Russia ask such a question. Why was it important to him?  
  
"...well," England slowly said as he thought of his answer. "He'd be in the commonwealth. With his brother and the rest of the colonies. I doubt he would ever forgive me if things went that way. He always challenged authority, that one; never content with just following. Why do you ask?"  
  
Ivan gave a half-smile to his counterpart. "He's different...isn't he? We have seen many countries grow but none had grown as fast as him. None had such...rebellious people, at least during his time. A little colony in the New World fought and won against an empire. Strange, no? I always wondered about his potential ever since I met him in his city's small port. Even now I am surprised with the amount of power he has."  
  
Alfred watched as the thick browed man drew a sharp breath. "That's an understatement," he muttered.  
  
The response made the Russian tilt his head to the side with a questioning look. "Oh? You sound bothered....are you afraid of him?" That made America lean closer to the door. He almost wanted to laugh. England? Afraid of him? That was ridiculous. His eyes drifted to the seated Englishman, who was in the middle of exhaling smoke. He couldn't fathom the idea of someone who once ruled more than half the world become afraid of him. England was still a world power; the strength of his colonies kept his empire running, so why should he have any reason to fear a fairly young nation?  
  
"I'm not scared," England clarified with a sharp glare. "I'm merely concerned." He paused to contemplate his next words. "He has...immense power. Raw, untouched power that I'm not sure he's even aware of wielding. With that much industry and talent at his disposal, he's been given the world. Imagine what he could do the moment he realizes that the allies he once looked to for help...now rely on him to stay alive. It will feed the monster that I see in the boy. We've all felt it at one point. The greedy, power-hungry beast that drove us to great heights, only to leave us when we've taken too much. I was too blind...too arrogant in thinking that nothing can possibly stop me. Now look at me," he sneered as he indicated his injuries to Russia, "actually worrying over the sun setting in my empire and letting Alfred take the mantle— the burden— I've let slip. It'll destroy him if he isn't careful."  
  
An attendant tapped America's shoulder, prompting the man to quickly retreat behind the door and get out of his fellow countries' sight and hearing range. "Excuse me sir..." the attendant's eyes shifted to the nation's untreated hand, which had left a few drops of blood on the floor. It was a miracle she remained calm and collected. "You need to have that seen. Shall I call the doctor?" In his haste to leave Japan and then eavesdrop on England and Russia, America had completely forgotten about his fresh wounds. It wasn't the first time it happened, but he still felt embarrassed nonetheless.  
  
With a sheepish expression, Alfred waved the uninjured hand and whispered, "Just a gauze and bandage's fine." It didn't look like the American's nonchalance convinced her as she continued to switch her gaze between the wound and Alfred's face. Reluctantly, the attendant nodded and walked away to retrieve the items.  
  
The nation returned to the ongoing conversation inside and settled on Arthur, who stood by the window with his head held high and face half-turned to the door. "—now do you understand my position in all of this?" England's voice resonated from across the room.    
  
"Yes," Ivan hummed, "but he is not under you. Why do you still act like he is?" For a moment, his expression betrayed him. The question took England aback. It was if he was offended. "You said he can stand on his own. You don't have to care. So why do you?"  
  
America knew England's look from a mile away. His cheeks were starting to turn pink, however not from embarrassment, but rather from barely controlled frustration. "The last I remember," he said coldly, "was that this isn't an interrogation. You asked and I answered. And frankly, I do not wish to answer any longer."  
  
Ivan didn't take the answer too harshly as a soft, almost disarming smile grew from the corners of his lips. "It's funny... you wonder why America surpassed you." There was something in the tone of his voice that was strange. Alfred couldn't exactly put it in words. It didn't sound like a veiled threat and...yet it felt like one. "It's because you let him."  
  
Quietly, the attendant returned and gave America the medical supplies. With a nod, he placed the gauze on his wounded hand and started to wrap the long bandage strip around it, allowing the attendant to leave. Fearing a fight that could erupt between the elder nations, America finally decided to enter the room. He knocked on the door and used his shoulder to push it open as his hand was preoccupied with wrapping up the other one. "Sorry," he mumbled, pretending to have just arrived. "I forgot about the time. What'd I miss?"  
  
"Nothing," England responded flatly as America raised his head and saw the other bring the lit cigarette to his lips. Upon closer inspection, said nation's stance was rigid and his eyes bore hostility. Russia held a similar look. His lips were thin but he appeared to be a twitch away from a sneer. Inwardly, America was glad he intervened just in time. Who knows what would've happened if he hadn't. "What the bloody hell happened to you?" Alfred followed the Englishman's pointed look and found himself staring at his bandaged hand.  
  
"Uh," he paused to formulate his next words. "Accident. It's no big deal." England blinked and didn't press on. He either knew or had an inkling of an idea of what happened. America was sure he'd be interrogated for information later.  
  
On the other hand, Ivan leaned closer toward the American in interest. "You were gone a long time. I thought you got lost." The jibe was not lost to Alfred, who rolled his eyes as he walked over to his seat. He had half a mind to give a snarky comeback, only to hold back his words. At least the temperature in the room felt somewhat warmer. As much as he wanted to get back into fighting, playing mediator between England and Russia was not what he had in mind. Most likely, he would have to worry about both aforementioned nations taking a swing at him instead of each other.  
  
"Very funny," Alfred said dryly. "I had to do something...important." He stood behind his chair, which was pushed into the table and rested his forearms on the top of its backrest. "What about you? You disappeared too."  
  
Ivan seemed to have anticipating the answer as he responded, "Advisors." Whether he meant that he needed to talk to them or they needed to converse with him was anyone's guess. America was more interested in the details of what they discussed than with whom. Lately, Russia was awfully quiet, quickly leaving without hanging back after allied meetings with the others. At first, Alfred thought nothing of it. Ivan participated in the talks as well as give his input in the planning stages of the counteroffensive. But as the meetings continued, he began to react negatively whenever there were any questions that involved to his side of the war front.  
  
Numerous divisions of his veteran Red Army were in areas that were already liberated and it made America wonder what they were doing there. Strategically, it would've been a good idea to do so, but the war was drawing down by the time Alfred was aware of the russian army's presences. Reports from his contacts even mentioned an increase of troops in the areas, alarming the nation. Russia was up to something and it bothered America.  
  
"About?" The young nation had no reservations with directly asking the soviet. Ivan locked eyes with him, his gaze was like the calm before an impending blizzard. A small voice whispered in the American's mind, chiding that he made a mistake.  
  
"Prussia," Russia answered, lacing his fingers together before he rested them on the table. He then indicated to a piece of paper next him with a grim expression. England approached the man, outstretched his uninjured hand holding the smoldering cigarette to place it in the ashtray, and decided to stand next to him, taking the note in his hand. The island nation read the contents, only to quickly snap his gaze to Ivan with a surprised expression. Before he could say anything, he was interrupted by said Russian. "There is a problem that... I think you just need to read it, America. To understand and believe me."  
  
"You can't be serious," Arthur said below a whisper. His voice was frantic and uneven, a stark contrast to his previously calm and collected demeanor. "This is Prussia we're talking about! We can't just— it's not right!" Whatever the news was, America knew it wasn't good. England's fierce reaction to it was enough of an indication. Inwardly, Alfred braced himself for the worst as he made his way to the thick browed nation. As his eyes scanned the words on the paper, the heavier his heart became. By the time he stopped reading, he was at a loss for words.  
  
"I didn't know about this until now," Ivan retorted with a hint of regret creeping into his tone. "One of the aides found it our boss' meeting and there is nothing I can do."  
  
"To hell with that," England muttered angrily. "He is one of us, regardless of which side he was on. He doesn't deserve this and you know it!" America was still reeling from the newfound information. In his lifetime, there were only a handful of occasions where the circumstances were similar. But none of them could prepare him in that moment. "Our bosses...they need to see reason," the Englishman continued bitterly, "they need to know that this declaration will kill him."  
  
Now, England was a fan of dramatics, but America knew that every single word he said was true. The concept of mortality among nations was not a new one; however it was fairly uncommon. Normally, a country met their demise through the combination of social and economic collapse. In exceedingly rare times, nations could be killed by their counterparts. Nowadays, it was taboo to even consider the idea of it. Countries were meant to evolve and change, hence their immortality and their ability to return from the dead without so much as a scratch.  
  
"Do you want to tell them then?" Russia asked sarcastically. America and England shared a glance with each other. With new leaders who were just briefed a few weeks ago— in Arthur's case a couple of hours prior to the meeting— about their existence and roles as the living embodiment of their respective countries, it would be difficult to have them change their minds. The only boss who was aware of the nations for a long amount of time was Ivan's. But both nations knew that Stalin almost never heeded Russia's advice. He answered to no one but himself. Besides, it was neither Alfred nor Arthur's place to mention anything to the soviet leader, lest they want to cause an international incident.  
  
With no other option, America considered lobbying to Truman against the motion for Prussia's dissolution, only audibly sigh when the idea seemed impossible to pull off. Truman was too new and too wary of Alfred to lend an open ear to his advice. Despite his presence in the White House as well as the many hours spent in the oval office with Roosevelt, Alfred was known to everyone but the president as a special advisor. Convincing Roosevelt was one thing as the man accepted the nation's status over a heart to heart talk in a deserted hallway after they discovered that neither could get some sleep following a rather hectic week for the administration. But Truman...he was a fairly quiet man who barely said a word to the nation. He mostly kept to himself and had seldom seen Alfred as the latter was busy going over reports from the Pacific and European fronts with Roosevelt. The young nation had a sinking feeling that Truman had yet to get over that he was actually America.  
  
"Save it. We all know what they'll say," England growled as he placed the cigarette in his mouth. Admittedly, America eyed the smoke and he felt his old habits stirring awake. He could really use one now. Maybe if he allowed himself a quick one, he would be relaxed enough to come up with a solution to help Gilbert. Before he could muster up the courage to ask the island nation for the rolled tobacco, Alfred felt a wave of guilt as he remembered his promise to his brother. With reluctance, the question never made it out of his lips.  
  
"So that's it?" America furrowed his eyebrows. "We're just gonna let them?" What were they to do? Their collective influences weren't enough to sway their leaders' minds. With their hands tied and their leaders at the helm of policy making, they were left with no other choice but to sit back and watch it all unfold. Silence dominated the meeting room as it gave them an unsettling feeling. America tried to control his furious emotions and prevent it from affecting his judgement. But damn it, it was difficult. He always prided himself in supporting his allies and help those who needed it. England likened it to a hero complex that Alfred was rather fine associating with. It came to no surprise that he felt almost completely helpless in Prussia's situation. There he was, unable to prevent a fellow nation's dissolution. Instead of being the hero, in bitter irony, he was the executioner.  
  
"I will tell Prussia when he comes home with me," Russia murmured in a low tone. Alfred questioned why said nation didn't sound as worried as both England and he. Sure, Ivan often fought Gilbert in many conquests for control but it was strange for him to not show much concern. The Russian glanced at America. "Is something bothering you?" He questioned the latter.  
  
Alfred quirked an eyebrow as he muttered, "You don't sound too shocked about this."  
  
Ivan's eyes drifted away from the American. "I care about what happens to him," he mentioned as he gave a long sigh and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But I don't know what to do. All I can do is warn him. Maybe...it will help."  
  
It was interesting for America to hear any sense of optimism from the Russian. Ivan wasn't known among his allies as the one who had the most positive outlook in most situations. He was more of a pragmatist who placed practicality above all else. When it came to survival, he preferred to not expect the best case scenario. It made him flexible to anything the world decided to throw at him. It proved to be a valuable skill. However, it also thickened his skin to a point where he reacted to any surprise with caution. He never let his guard down. After seeing him both in combat and out, Alfred didn't doubt his conclusions at the slightest. Anything that he could get his hands on was a deadly weapon. Even damned icicles.  
  
England's eyebrows knitted together in frustration. "How in the sodding world would that do him any good?" He questioned as he gripped the paper harder, leaving unintended wrinkles on it. "The draft clearly states that we won't reinstate Prussia as a country." His words were venomous and sharp. It was if he was accusing the soviet nation for what happened.    
  
"It's a start, England," Russia started, not acknowledging the bitterness of England's words. Before he could say anything else, one of his aides walked in and briskly strode to the seated man. In quick succession, he leaned toward Ivan and whispered something to him in russian.  Immediately, Ivan looked tense.

Both America and England strained to understand what was being said to him. The former struggled to translate the language back to his native english, while the latter could only catch certain words.

Once finished, the aide stepped back as the soviet nation stood from his seat. "My boss is leaving now. I have to go."  
  
Before he even realized it, Alfred grabbed the silver-haired Russian by the forearm. "We're not done here," the American stated, completely ignoring the hurried look from the aide.

"For now we are," Russia retorted, his free hand softly patting America's. Both nations held steely gazes. After clearing his throat, Ivan was the first to break eye contact as he shook off the hand keeping him from leaving. Alfred swore the other gave an apologetic smile before he turned heel and walked out of the meeting room with the aide in tow.  
  
After he watched Russia exit, America took a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips. "Dammit," he gritted his teeth as his head hung low.

Every time he thought a problem was solved, there was always a new one just waiting behind the corner. Having his soviet counterpart leave when presented with an issue as unique as this was disappointing in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to drag the Russian back to the room and demand that he'd stay until a plausible alternative was thought out. But of course, Alfred thought bitterly, there was so much bureaucratic red tape he would have to go through in order to talk to the nation. Again, a potential international incident prevented him from doing so. It was an aggravating moment for him. To convince all three heads of state to reconsider required cooperation from all three nations. Ivan's departure was not helping. Not at all.  
  
"That could've gone a lot better," England remarked shortly after brief silence. His temper simmered, but the former ward knew that it's barely kept in check. There was no doubt in the young nation's mind that the island nation was livid beneath the mask.  
  
"You think?" The American bit back with more snark than he intended. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"  
  
"We rest up," Arthur offered as he pinched the bridge of his nose using one hand and closed his eyes. "There's no point in sulking because we didn't get our way." He removed his uninjured hand from the bridge of his nose and took a short drag of the cigarette, slowly exhaling the smoke. "It'll be better to have some downtime to think."  
  
"...So what are you gonna tell France?" Alfred couldn't help but ask. Dissolving a nation was never an easy decision and both Alfred and Arthur knew that Francis will take the news the hardest. Prussia was arguably one of the Frenchman's best friends. Sure, they found themselves in the opposite ends of the battlefield and inflicted damage to each other, but somehow they'd always make up. France wouldn't take the news lightly. It was a delicate matter that worried America. He spared a glance toward England.  
  
There it was again. The haunted look on his face made worse by the shadows produced by the light emanating off the window. In a soft grumble, the Englishman's eyes snapped open as he snubbed his cigarette and left it on the ashtray. With his now free hand, he reached for a chain he wore around his neck and pulled it out, lost in thought. Attached at the bottom of it was a gold band. The ring wasn't flashy and it only sported two weaving patterns that crisscrossed around the band, making a seamless infinity symbol repeated over and over. England rubbed the ring with his pointer finger, as if he was quietly asking for its advice.  
  
After what seemed to be a long silence, he responded with a sigh, "Only what he needs to know."  
  
By that, America was certain that Francis wouldn't learn of the plans for Prussia's dissolution just yet. It will undoubtedly strike a heavy blow to the already bruised and battered man. Alfred swallowed hard. He held his breath as he tried to collect his thoughts. France would not be happy once he found out the truth. At the same time, maybe they don't need to let him—America shook away the thought. No. It wouldn't be fair to keep him in the dark. That wasn't what Francis deserved. "Are you sure?" Alfred breathed out. "You don't want me to go with you and tell him too?"  
  
"I don't need a babysitter," England grumbled as he narrowed his good eye toward the American. "I can handle him myself." The words stung him more than Alfred initially thought. Even now, Arthur continued to refuse any form of help. It frustrated the former colony to no end.  
  
Refusing to take no for an answer, he shook his head. "What you need to handle," he softly retorted to the island nation, "is your health." It was no use for the thick browed man to protest. Alfred won't let him get away with that. England was stubborn, but America was bullheaded. It was as simple as that. "Do you really think he's gonna believe that everything'll be fine with you looking like you came back from Hell? Yeah, I don't think so, England."  
  
Said nation snorted in response. If the circumstances were less dire, Alfred would've cracked a bemused smile. Arthur's silence meant that he had a point. At least that's what he thought. "I can't guarantee he'll open up to you," England muttered as if he was talking to himself rather than towards the former colony. It wasn't like the young nation didn't expect it. Nonetheless, it was still better trying than not at all.  
  
"I just wanna tell him gently, you know? Better from us than some random chatter he might overhear from others." The American didn't even dare to explore the possibility of France finding out through an unknown source. England's estate may be private, but there were still officers who occasionally stopped by to debrief the nation of any developments. Yes, better them— the dysfunctional pseudo-family of nations that somehow survived years of animosity and contempt towards each other— than anyone else who were aware of the dissolution and were careless enough to speak of it. That sounded about right.

Unwilling to have any unwanted eavesdroppers, Alfred made his way to the door and closed it. He then turned to Arthur with a serious look. "How is Francis? Like really?" He made it a point to use France's human name, in an attempt to garner a frank answer. 

"Alfred, just drop it," England warned tiredly. "I already gave you an answer."

An answer that wasn't good enough, prompting America to roll his eyes. "And I'll stop when you tell me what's really going on with Francis. How bad is it?" Focusing on France was a better alternative compared to Prussia's situation. He had to push Arthur a bit more, even if it riled up the island nation. "I wanna know because it matters how we're gonna break the news to him." 

Understandably, England refused to meet Alfred's pointed gaze. In a huff, he finally relented and admitted, "The nightmares keep him awake for days. His injuries are taking longer to heal and he...he's _off."_  That was England's roundabout way of saying that Francis was everything but alright. America didn't doubt his words the slightest. After all, they have history between them that ran for hundreds of years.   

"The dreams," bespectacled nation started, "were they like last time?" Alfred vividly recalled the time he visited Francis three months after Arthur took him to London. _Clothes were strewn on the floor and on Francis's bed. A small lamp was also on the ground with the lampshade nowhere to be found, exposing the bulb. A large wooden dresser had all four drawers open at varying lengths as well as an armoire that was lying sideways on the floor._  In his mind's eye, he heard France's voice, shaken and tense as England tried to calm him down.

The American shook away the memory. It had been almost five months since then. 

"They've gotten worse." It was at that moment when the younger man noted England's haggard appearance. Although the man had a stiff upper lip and a chin held high, it was his eyes that gave him away.

Having heard enough, Alfred reached for his jacket and put it on without pressing Arthur further. It was time to leave. He cocked his head toward the door as a silent gesture to the other nation.

Neither men said another word as they exited the room and let the door softly close behind them. 

**Author's Note:**

> -The title is the name of the location where the conference took place. Cecilienhof was a palace built for the Hohenzollern Crown Prince Wilhelm and his wife, Duchess Cecilie of Mecklenburg-Schwerin in 1912. Construction for the palace finished in 1917. After the conference, the Red Army used it as a clubhouse. 
> 
> -I have a headcanon that France stayed in England's house after Paris was liberated instead of him escaping with his government to London after the City of Lights fell to the Germans in 1940. Also, I headcanon that a nation's injuries corresponds to a mix of infrastructure damage and the casualties, hence why Arthur and Ivan look a lot worse than Alfred. And using a nation's human name is more personal; it's like a nickname for them. 
> 
> -Yalta is a reference to the conference that took place earlier in February 1945 with the original Big Three. 
> 
> -America's musings regarding the "new weapon" is an allusion to the atomic bomb; a direct reference to when Truman found out about a successful test right before the conference took place. He ended up telling Churchill about it, but he just mentioned it casually to Stalin. 
> 
> -Originally, I never planned to have America meet up with Japan, but I felt that it would be an interesting subject to write about to explore his interaction with someone he was at war with. 
> 
> -During the conference, Winston Churchill lost the election to Clement Attlee (who replaced in him on July 28).
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic!


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